


Slow Simmer

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Biting, Double Penetration, Forced Orgasm, Fucking Machines, Non Consensual, Restraints, mentions of cannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 11:11:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal captures Will before Will figures him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow Simmer

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Hannibal kink meme.

Will returns to consciousness slowly. His mouth is bone-dry, tongue sticking to the roof of it. What happened? He remembers pressure at his neck, and then nothing.  
  
His head throbs. Will shifts, wincing as the pressure eases. Belatedly he realizes he’s unable to move. For some reason he’s strapped down to a table, arms and legs restrained with thick leather straps. Then there’s the little fact that he’s half naked. His collar shirt has been removed, but his t-shirt allowed to stay. No such luck with his underwear. They're gone as well as his jeans. There’s a tremor of panic welling up that Will suppresses immediately. There’s a logical reason for this, for everything that's happened. Even the nudity which makes him supremely uncomfortable.  
  
_Think. Focus._ The last thing he remembers is…  
  
“Good morning, Will.”  
  
_Hannibal._  
  
Will turns his head to see Hannibal standing in the doorway. Hannibal closes the door behind him before turning his whole attention back to Will.  
  
The panic twists through Will again, leaving him sweaty and cold. Hannibal. Of course.  
  
“You.” How could he have missed this? There must have been a moment when he should have known, and somehow he missed it. Perhaps this is the fate he deserves for failing so completely to see what's been right in front of him for months now.  
  
Hannibal’s lips arch upward. “That’s what you said last night before I knocked you unconscious.”  
  
_Hands gripping him, tightening, his head hitting the side of the bookcase. The carpet rushing up to meet him._  
  
“It’s you.” Will spits slightly, and Hannibal steps forward, watching the saliva trail over his lower lip. Will licks his lip reflexively. He’s seen Hannibal smile before, but this one is different. Somehow this one is  utterly, truly himself. Will tries to focus on the matter at hand. Hannibal brought him here, but why? For what? Logic says to kill him, and yet... “Why am I still alive?”  
  
There, genuine surprise in those keen eyes. He’s managed to surprise the esteemed Hannibal Lecter. That’s something, Will supposes. He doesn’t find it particularly consoling in his situation.  
  
“Did you think that I would simply kill you, Will?” Hannibal rests his hands on the table next to Will’s arm. Those hands. Will can feel their phantom touch on his neck. His skin twitches at their proximity.  
  
“It’s what you do, isn’t it?”  
  
“Usually.” Hannibal admits. “But you must realize you’re something of a special case, Will.”  
  
“Let me guess, you’ll eat my,”  
  
Hannibal’s hand closes over his mouth. “Don’t give me any ideas, Will.”  
  
Hannibal’s scent is uniquely his own.  A rare hand cream that Will can’t identify, a forest, dark and verdant. His palm, supple velvet over Will's dry lips. It's too hot and he can't breathe, gagging slightly and Hannibal takes his hand away a second later. There’s drool at the corner of Will's mouth.

Hannibal glances down at his palm. “A side effect of the sedative I gave you.” He draws a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his hand. “It will pass.”  
  
“That’s a relief.” Will stares at the ceiling. Is he in an unused room of Hannibal’s office? In his house somewhere in a room Will’s never seen? He can’t tell. It’s a moderately sized room with gray walls and no windows. Not bleak, merely uninteresting. There’s no furniture except the table he’s on, two smaller side tables, one with a cloth drawn over it, and a shelf with an assortment of items Will can't make out. It reminds Will of a storage unity.  
  
“You don’t like my décor.” Hannibal observes.  
  
“It’s oddly boring for you.”  
  
“I apologize.” Hannibal’s fingers brush over his arm for an instant. “But normally, you would not be alive at this juncture to be bored by the interior design.”  
  
Will exhales shakily. “Where are my pants?” He doesn’t bother asking where his underwear is.  
  
“They’re where I left them.” Hannibal tells him. “They were only an obstruction.”  
  
As far as Will remembers, the Chesapeake Ripper doesn’t rape his victims, or molest them sexually in any way. But as Hannibal said, he is a special case.  
  
The sweating begins in earnest as Hannibal walks around him. “I have a series of tests for you, Will. This first one is, a tad extreme perhaps, but necessary, I think.”  
  
“Taking my pants away was a necessity?” Will finds this hard to believe.  
  
Hannibal merely smiles at him, resting his hand on Will’s bare thigh.  
  
Will tenses and Hannibal removes his hand without a murmur. “Let’s begin then.”  
  
He picks up a tube from one of the side tables, squirting some lubricant into the center of his palm. Will focuses on the ceiling again. It’s not remotely distracting in any way. He tenses as a cool, well lubricated finger circles his hole.  
  
“You’ve had sex before.” Hannibal comments, eyes focused on the task at hand.  
  
“Yes. Once.” Will remembers it abstractedly. An unnecessarily complicated meeting of limbs and skin.  
  
“With a woman.” Hannibal pushes a finger inside him.  
  
Will tenses further as he murmurs, “Yesss.” Hannibal’s so matter-of-fact about this, but Will’s body is resolutely rigid. He’s not prepared for this; there’s no way anyone could be prepared for this.  
  
“I know it’s difficult but the more you relax, the easier this will be.”  
  
Will turns his head slightly, glancing upward at him, “Maybe I don’t want to make it easier.”  
  
“But you don’t want pain.”  
  
At that Will squeezes his eyes shut. “No.” Not like this he doesn’t. Hannibal’s finger is uncomfortable, probing deeper inside him, testing him, and then another is added. Slow circular movements, stretching him carefully for something more. Hannibal? The thought is one Will's considered before, but not like this. He should be afraid, and he is, but it’s not the fear he expected. This fear is new.  
  
“May I have a sip of water?” His voice sounds haggard to his own ears. As much as he wants to hide the effect Hannibal is having on him he can’t. He’s never been able to keep his forts entirely intact around the man.  
  
“Ah, the sedative, of course. I must apologize.” Hannibal removes his fingers and moves to the side table. There’s a pitcher and a glass standing there waiting. He pours and brings the glass over to Will. His hand cups the back of Will’s neck, raising him to drink.  
  
“Just a sip.” Hannibal directs. “We don’t want you to have an accident, Will.”  
  
“Would that anger you?” Will asks, licking his lips in an attempt to catch every last bit of moisture. “Me, making a mess.” Will Hannibal kill him when he proves a disappointment? Surely it’s only a matter of time. He imagines how it will be. Quick and painless, or sharp and cruel?  
  
“Oh, there will be a mess all right.” Hannibal sets the glass aside. “But it will be of my devising.”  
  
The words send fear corkscrewing down through Will’s gut. “Why are you doing this?”  
  
Hannibal returns to between his legs, inspecting Will with casual fingers, pushing inside once more, testing his resistance. It's slightly less now. “I suspect this will still be uncomfortable for you, for a while at least. But eventually you will relax.”  
  
He turns, and for the first time Will notices the item sitting on one of the side tables in the corner. Hannibal removes the cloth covering it and sets it aside.  
  
Will’s voice cracks, laughing hoarsely in disbelief. “Are you fucking serious?”

It’s a fucking machine. _A_ _fucking machine._ A small elegant machine with a slender, yet still intimidating shaft. Will’s never made a study of fucking machines. Crude things, in his opinion, even if this one seems tastefully made. This is not happening. This is a new one for the Chesapeake Ripper.

“I’m afraid I am.” Hannibal runs his forefinger over the shaft. “I purchased this especially for you.”

“Oh, well, of course that makes me feel so much better.” Will can’t take his eyes off the shaft. The thought of Hannibal buying it for him sends a perverse twist of heat through his groin. Where did one buy a fucking machine? No doubt it’d have to be special ordered. Hannibal – going to all that trouble just for him. Which means… “Have you had it long?”

“You want to know how long I’ve been planning this?” Hannibal’s arranging the machine at the end of the table.

“Well, it does make you wonder.” Will can’t keep the curtness out of his voice. From the first moment Hannibal saw him? Since they started working together? Since he got too close? When?

Hannibal moves alongside the table until he’s standing right next to Will. “When do you guess?”

“I haven’t the foggiest notion.”

Hannibal leans down and Will flattens himself against the table. “Then I’ll leave it up to your imagination.” He focuses on Will’s mouth, teeth showing for the barest of moments.

“You know how my imagination works.” Will whispers, resisting the urge to lick his lips. They’re so dry, but Hannibal’s gaze makes him nervous.

Hannibal’s smile was smug. “I do indeed.”

Will flinches. It’s perhaps the cruelest thing Hannibal’s ever done to him, apart from knocking him out and tying him to a table, not to mention stealing his pants. He knows how Will’s imagination works.

“Please don’t consider this an insult in any way, Will. I would prefer to attend to you myself. Alas, I have appointments all day. This will keep you busy, and hopefully you’ll be more accepting when I return.”

“You’re going to leave me tied that contraption all day in the hopes that it will make me more _accepting_ of the small fact that you’re a serial killer.” Will stares at him. _That you’re a cannibal._ Those words are unnecessary. He knows Hannibal can smell his fear; he must look supremely appetizing at the moment.

Hannibal just looks at him. “You never were one for merely stating the obvious, Will, but essentially, yes.”

Hannibal positions the machine carefully at the end of the table. He tests the speed, letting the shaft push forward until the tip brushes Will's hole, making him tremble. Hannibal makes a slight adjustment and nods to himself.  

“There.” Hannibal steps back. “Now in case you’re worried about being left alone, you may scream if you like. But I assure you, no one will hear. There’s a camera just there.” He nods at the corner nearest the table. “I’ll check in from time to time to see how you’re doing.”

“You can’t do this.” Will blurts out. He knows it’s pointless, but the words free themselves anyway.

Hannibal pauses. “Why not?” He checks his watch while Will splutters for an answer. There is none that’s acceptable to him and they both know it. “And now I must be going,” He presses the button and the shaft moves forward again, thrusting slowly, steadily into Will.

“God,” Will’s hips buck, or try to. He can’t do more than strain them in vain as the machine eases all the way inside him. Hannibal watches for a moment. The speed is slow: one long thrust, then it retreats and repeats the gesture. It’s crude as Will thought, but nothing spectacular. He can bear this.

Hannibal just smiles and closes the door behind him.

There’s the distinct click of a lock, and Will’s left alone.

*  *  *

Will counts them at first. 15 thrusts in and so far he’s starting to feel slightly frustrated at worst. If this were a lover he had chosen he’d be telling the man to _do something else already_ by now. If it were Hannibal, but Hannibal would need no direction. He’d know exactly how to touch Will, seeking out those sensitive places on Will’s skin that would…

He blinks, sending the thoughts skittering away. These are not the actions of a lover. He’s a captive here, allowed to live for as long as Hannibal finds him intriguing, nothing more than that. 

As the minutes drag on, the machine continues to be more annoying than anything else. In and out, in and out, hitting the same spot, which is nowhere near his prostate. Obviously Hannibal knows what he’s doing, which means he wants Will to be in kept in this bored, frustrated state. While that’s annoying in itself, it’s still not the stark sexual torture Will had first pictured. This mechanical fucking, while humiliating in its own way is nothing more than crass and monotonous. Frankly Will expected more from someone of Hannibal’s caliber. This is hardly up to the creative standards of the Chesapeake Ripper.

Really, he should have remembered that.

HIs mind drifts, remembering the artistry of those crime scenes. Each of them a magnificent display, every last portion devised with a masterful touch.

That's when the speed changes and Will _gasps._ Now the machine darts frenziedly inside him. _Now_ he gets the name.

It maintains this speed for what feels longer than an hour to Will’s reasoning, but in reality is probably no more than ten minutes or so. His cock remains untouched, resting against his thigh, yet slowly, cleverly it’s provoked into arousal, curving upward and swelling with blood.

Will closes his eyes. Over the years he's experienced a series of humiliating incidents, but this, this is crawling to the top of the list. He knows it's just his body responding to the machine, not _him,_ but try telling that to his brain. A bead of pre-come collects at the tip of his cock and Will sighs, opening his eyes again.

He's uncomfortably reminded of a conversation he had with Hannibal less than a month ago.

_"Do you masturbate, Will?"_

_Will shifts, glancing at the floor. "Sometimes."_

_"When?"_

_"Is this really relevant?"_

_Hannibal sits back in his chair. "I merely thought it might help you to relax."_

_"I'm not saying it doesn't relax me. Merely that the sensation doesn't last."_

_"Even temporary release is still release." Hannibal reminds him._

_Will can't argue with that._

Of course he masturbates, but not regularly. It's a bodily function like any other. If Will's aroused, he takes care of it as necessary and that's that.

This repetitive violating machine is merely forcing him into stimulation against his will. That's all. It's not his fault. He keeps his gaze focused resolutely on the ceiling until at last the combination of the pace and angle of the shaft secures an unwanted orgasm from him. Will spurts messily across his belly, semen spattering upon his skin.

The mess bothers him as it sits there, warm and sticky, but what’s worse is the machine simply keeps going. It returns to the first speed and Will relaxes unconsciously. He tries to make a clinical detachment from the whole situation, but his nerves are too wrought.

He’s being slowly lulled into a dull haze of counting the continual thrusts when the machine abruptly shuts off.

Will’s startled out of his thoughts. Is it over? Is that it and now he’s just left here? He flexes slightly, wincing. His body’s a little sore, but it could be far worse.

He glances up at the camera. “Is that it?”

As if it heard him, the machine starts up again. The arm of the shaft adjusts itself, and then with quick pulsing speed, it pumps in and out of Will’s body rhythmically. This time brushing over his prostate, teasing him.

Will strains and shakes, sweating hard, hands clenching in their straps. This time it's more forceful as his body isn't recovered yet. His stomach jerks with pleasure, balls tingling painfully. Will moans, a pathetic, desperate sound as his cock starts leaking again.

_If only Hannibal were there to touch him._

By the time his cock's recovered enough to harden once more the machine returns to the slow rhythm. Will shivers. He’s raw and sore and wants desperately to be alone, to touch his aching cock.

“What’s the point of this?” Will asks aloud. “Are you trying to confuse me? Seduce me?” He laughs, and the machine goes deeper, moving over his prostate again. Will chokes on his laughter. “Am I really that special?”

The machine does it again. Will closes his eyes, shuddering involuntarily. “Give me a moment. I’m not a fifteen-year-old.” It doesn’t matter, Hannibal might listen to him, but the machine doesn’t care.

His thighs tremble, sweat rolls down his neck, beading across his forehead. Will forces himself to focus, but his control slips away. He’s lost track of the time. How many hours has he been in this room? how many times has he come? Two, he thinks? Maybe three? That’s enough. The magic number. Enough already. _Enough_.

Will doesn’t realize he’s shouted the last word aloud until he hears the echo of his own voice ringing in his ears.

*  *  * 

The machine stops at last. Will draws a grateful ragged breath. Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper. He’s killed god knows how many people and now presented with someone who might have eventually figured out his secret, what does he do? He sexually torments them to death.

“At least I suppose it’s to death.” Will murmurs wearily. How would that work? The thought of Jack Crawford finding his mutilated corpse impaled like this makes him want to laugh, but he ends up choking instead until he finally manages to stop. His mouth is still parched. That sip of water seems so long ago.  
  
The silence gives him room to breathe, to recover. It also allows him to start thinking aloud.  
  
“What’s the point?” Will asks again. Hannibal has him at his mercy. He could kill Will with one swift knife thrust. Will shudders, thinking of it. Why do  _this_? Hannibal thinks he’s special, but why? Because he enjoys seeing Will fall apart? Is that it? Is that enough?  
  
“Are you watching this?” Will turns his head towards the camera. “In your office, maybe from behind your desk, while some person spills their pathetic personal guts to you. You  _smile_  at them while you watch me get fucked like some…” The anger rises in his chest, hot and unexpected.  
  
“Come on then. Just do it already.”  
  
The machine starts again and Will’s body jolts as it enters him. Oh god, the shaft does it so easily now. Is there more lubricant on there? Will can’t tell. A self-lubricating fucking machine. Will wonders never cease?  
  
Either Hannibal has it on a timer, which is entirely possible, or he’s controlling it from a remote, which means he’s definitely watching this, watching Will. Hysteria crawls up Will’s spine at the thought of Hannibal’s eyes watching him remotely. Shivers dance up and down and he gulps down his panic.  
  
The next time Will keeps his lips pressed together tightly as his orgasm rolls over him.   
  
The time after that he cries, each thrust dragging twisted pleasure out of his raw body. Will shudders, closing his eyes. If this were Hannibal touching him, he would be begging at this point. Begging him to let Will go, begging him to end it.  
  
He finally loses consciousness while his cock is twitching painfully.  
  
When Will comes to, head pounding, the machine is still going. There’s no escape from this. He’s going to be forced to wait for Hannibal to return and release him one way or another.  
  
“All those times you helped. All those nights you listened.” Will whispers. “You were just…”  
  
But the trouble is, he sees it, he even understands why Hannibal did what he did. What a rare chance to get into Will’s head and see what he had been thinking. How could Hannibal resist?

*  *  *

Will’s stomach is a mess. The room stinks of come and sweat. His entire torso is sensitized by now. The parts that haven’t been touched yet ache for it. His nipples rub against the thin material on his t-shirt with each twist of his body.

The light overheard is too bright even from the corner of his eyes. It’s the sort of thing he knows Hannibal would have taken more care with usually. Except usually he’d be dead at this point. Will shudders even though the machine’s stopped for the moment. He squeezes his eyes shut against everything that’s happening, turning his face away from the light.

The room darkens behind his eyelids. Will opens them frantically to find himself in darkness.

“Please, no.” he pulls at the straps. “Hannibal, please.” A dry sob catches in his throat.

A beat in the darkness and Will swallows, still struggling in the straps. “Please.” His wrists burn as he yanks at them.

The light switches back on again and he swallows a sigh of relief. Anger follows shortly. Rational or irrational, Will no longer cares.

“Did you enjoy that?” He shouts at the camera. “Don’t you enjoy it more when you can see me panic? I thought that was the _point_.” The camera doesn’t answer him, of course. Will subsides at last, chest heaving. _Rational, stick to rational._ After a while begging will lose its appeal. He suspects it’s only working for him at the moment because it’s _him_ asking. Anyone else and Hannibal would have gutted them already.

He takes a deep breath.

“Thank you. For turning the light back on.”

Will rolls his shoulders, trying to shift position. An aching soreness passes through his body.  He wants to curl up in a ball, turning inward. He wants a hot bath to drown his aching limbs, letting the water seep over his head until…

“How much longer?”

The answer flickers back to him. _As long as it takes._ Hannibal wants him accepting. Would he be able to fake it? No, no, that won’t work. Hannibal won’t buy it.

It’s not hard to admire the man, or even respect him after all this time. He’s done incredible things, if you take a step back to admire them. Hannibal hasn’t lost here either. This is a preemptive strike, guessing that Will’s getting close enough to become a serious threat.

“I suppose I should be flattered.” Will murmurs drowsily. “Did you think I’d figure it out?”

The machine clicks on and his heart sinks. But he keeps talking as it slips into him with wretched ease.

“Was I too close? Something I saw but didn’t see? What did I miss?” His tongue swipes over his lips. “What did I miss?” He closes his eyes as the shaft fucks away.

_Hannibal. Hannibal, smiling at him, raising a glass, offering a spoonful of sauce to taste, eyes upon the stove, the scent of meat cooking. All those times he’s cooked for Will, for everyone…_

Will retches, choking on his own bile. “Did you think I’d just recognize the taste one day? My god, this tastes like people?” Having his eyes close gives his confidence as his voice rises. “You got off on it.”

Is it his imagination or does the machine speed up a fraction of an inch, making his cock twitch painfully.

“Every time I put your meat in in my mouth, digesting your creations.” Now the machine definitely speeds up and Will grunts, pressing his lips together tight against the threatening orgasm. His balls tighten and he arches up, hips pulling helplessly. He had no idea his cock could ever hurt this much, like a weight pulling at it, forcing it into arousal.

“Is that it? You just liked feeding me?”

His body’s racked with this one and he shakes violently, before going limp. Sweat coats his forehead.

“All those dinner parties.” Will swallows, closing his eyes again, going deeper. _Hannibal seeing him, watching him in his office, shadowing him on the job._ “It was a game for you.” And now Will’s the one who’s lost.

He doesn’t talk any more. The machine thrusts on and Will remembers that moment catching Hannibal’s eye over the donor in the ambulance. He should have seen it then and there, but Hannibal helped the man. He’s as efficient at saving a life as he is filleting a corpse. All the time he’s helped Will though, catching other killers, encouraging him onward when Will’s bogged down, unable to see his way out of the mire, holding out a hand to steady him.

Forging friendship when Will’s been so alone.

A sigh escapes Will’s lips. Hannibal isn’t giving him time to become more accepting. He’s allowing him more time to think which is what Will does best of all.

The machine stops momentarily and his body instinctively flexes expectantly, waiting for it to begin again. Even his own form is being conditioned against him. Will spares a thought for what he looks like here, strung out and skewered entirely for Hannibal’s pleasure.

The machine switches angles again, entering him with a delicate flexibility. Will melts into the pleasurable agony knotting its way through him. How does Hannibal know what to do to him?

There’s a fair portion of his brain that’s offended at the situation. This is his first time like this. Hannibal left him to be fucked by a mere machine as though he can’t be bothered to touch Will’s body with his own hands or, possibly he didn’t want to, regardless of what he said earlier.

Will’s mind drifts with the motion of the shaft thrusting rhythmically, alternating between sensitive and rough strokes inside him. The tip slides over his prostate and Will writhes, imagining it to be Hannibal. It’s all he can think of. Hannibal’s hands holding his wrists down easily, his body stretched out atop Will’s restrained one, Hannibal filling him until Will’s body succumbs under his onslaught. Will screams when he comes, each ribbon of come coiling painfully across his skin. His cock curves swollen and tender over his belly. He’s limp with the aftereffects, his body twitching like a rabbit caught in a snare.

*  *  *

He’s lying there, spent and disgusting when Hannibal finally returns and opens the door. He’s carrying a tray with a bowl of water and two washcloths. Setting the tray down on the side table, Hannibal turns to look at Will.

Embarrassment coats Will’s skin as Hannibal surveys him. He keeps his eyes averted as Hannibal walks over to the table.

Hannibal’s gaze travels down his torso, focusing on Will’s cock for a moment before looking up to meet Will’s eyes. “I see it has not been an entirely unproductive day.”

“You already knew that.” It hurts to speak. Will wishes he’d kept his mouth shut as Hannibal glances at him.

“Would you have preferred to be entirely alone?”

When Will doesn’t answer, Hannibal merely looks amused. He dips one of the cloths into the water and begins cleaning Will off. The combination of warm water and soft material sends faint tremors through Will’s body.

At last Hannibal sets the cloth aside and turns to inspects the t-shirt. Will cringes as he realizes how much he’s sweated through the armpits.

“Should I take this off?” Hannibal’s fingers touch along the collar.

“Please don’t.” His t-shirt is all he has.

Hannibal tilts his head, studying him as he skims his other hand down Will’s thigh. He runs his thumb along Will’s hip, before moving to wrap his hand lightly around the head of his cock. “Ask me again.”

A small, desperate whimper escapes Will’s lips. Hannibal’s palm around his raw cock makes him harden bringing tears to his eyes. He’s so fucking sensitive at this point, Hannibal doesn’t even have to stroke him or anything. The heat from his hand is enough.

“Don’t.”

“Very well.”  Hannibal steps back. “Tell me, Will. What do you think of my work?”

This is it. Will steadies himself. “You know it’s exquisite, you have the mind of a true artist.” Honest words, he can’t help them.  He’s studied Hannibal’s handiwork for so long now, he can’t help seeing the artistry in the bodies. “I will say that.”

“But…” Hannibal waits.

“But if you let me off this table, I’m going to have to tell someone.” His voice holds steady. _This is it._ Will imagines the knife sinking into his flesh. Will Hannibal leave him alive as he cuts out his organs? Or will he be merciful before he takes Will’s heart from his chest?

Hannibal merely nods. “I know.” His hand settles on Will’s flank. “I never expected anything less of you, Will.”

“You’re going to kill me.”

“If I have to.” Hannibal’s fingers press into his skin, sending shivers down Will’s spine. “But first, tell me this. What you were thinking of when you screamed?”

Even though he had been fairly certain that Hannibal had been watching throughout the day, Will can feel the flush rising in his cheeks at having it confirmed. “Why?”

“Because I desire to know.” Hannibal says simply. He removes his coat, laying it aside over the side table. His shirt collar is crisp and straight. Will focuses on that, the top button, the precise curve of Hannibal’s throat, anything to keep from looking up into those eyes.

Hannibal squeezes his fingertips down Will’s cock. “Will.”

“ _Please_.” Will’s eyes skim frantically around the room. He can’t.

“Will.” Hannibal chides him and Will’s breath catches in his throat as Hannibal does it once more before strolling down to the end of the table.

“What were you thinking of in that moment?” Hannibal’s forefinger curiously explores the puckered skin stretched around the shaft.

“How tired I was.” Will’s lips are cracked, there’s a spot of dried blood on the lower one. He can taste it when he licks them.

Hannibal cups his balls almost appraisingly. “I don’t care for people to lie to me, Will.”

“What do you expect me to say?” Will’s voice cracks huskily, which he finds irritating. It’s like he’s a teenager again, surrounded by people watching him, awkwardness heating his face at feeling all the eyes upon him. _If he could just get away from them, if he could just escape_. Now there’s only one set of eyes studying him. Hannibal’s.

This might be worse.

“I expect you to tell me the truth.” Hannibal’s fingertips caress his balls and Will swallows a moan.

“Are you going to eat them?” He knows it’s a risk to ask, the proverbial elephant in the room, but what else are they going talk about?

“I’ve thought about it.” Hannibal gives him a light squeeze. “When you sit across from me in that chair, spreading your legs as you talk. I imagine sinking my teeth into you, making your head fall back against the chair as you arch into my mouth.” He twists his fingers with the last word and Will arches off the table with a hoarse scream. 

Will counts to ten, trying not to tremble. “How do I taste?”

There’s that smile again. “Divine. Now tell me what you were thinking.”

Will flattens his hands against the table, composing himself before looking straight into Hannibal’s eyes. “I was thinking…I hope you refurbish this room before your next kill.”

Now it will begin. Now Hannibal will bare his teeth for sure.

*  *  *

Instead Hannibal’s lips thin to a straight line and then he turns back to Will’s cock. He moves the machine away from the end of the table, leaning in to inspect Will more carefully.  
  
“Perhaps I should have used more lubricant.” He says, running his forefinger around Will’s sensitive hole. Will hisses as Hannibal pushes his finger inside along the shaft.  
  
“How would you say you felt?”  
  
“I would say I feel sore.” There are other words ( _desperate, weak, pitiful_ ) but Will keeps them inside.  
  
“I’m sure. You must ache considerably.” Hannibal adds another finger, curling them to brush his knuckles over Will’s prostate. Will strangles back a moan.  
  
“Would Jack Crawford believe you if you told him?”  
  
“About the fact that you’re keeping people in cold storage for your dinner parties or the fact that you kept me strapped to a table and raped me all day?”  
  
Hannibal’s fingers still and Will stops breathing for a moment. Did he fully calculate the risk in saying that to Hannibal? What is he saying? He’s not going to tell Jack about this. It’d be the end of his career.  
  
“Cold storage is merely for emergencies. I prefer the taste of fresh meat.” Hannibal says. “Would you truly try telling Jack about this?” He twists his knuckles again and Will bites his lip hard against the shriek rising inside him, twisting in his straps. It’s not pleasure at this point. It’s violent, pain infused need.  
  
“If it was necessary.” The thought is abhorrent to him. Jack knowing about this, looking at him with pity in his eyes, but they’ll never get to that point because Hannibal will never let him go. Telling Jack Crawford about this is one thing he’ll never have to do.  
  
“If.” Hannibal presses and Will shivers.  
  
“You think I want anyone to know about this?” Will stares angrily at Hannibal. “You think anyone would ever be able to look at me again without thinking of this?” As if they don’t look at him enough already.  
  
Hannibal shrugs and removes his finger. “So don’t tell them.”  
  
“And in return, I what…don’t tell them about your proclivities. Is that it?” Will sneers.  
  
“I’m merely curious as to what you would say to Jack. If you tell him, I’m the Chesapeake Ripper, you wouldn’t have to tell him about this.” His other hand closes over Will’s cock once more.  
  
 “Maybe not.” But Will thinks of it, carrying the knowledge of this alone, burying it deep after, after what? After Hannibal’s caught and locked up? After he’s executed? They wouldn't do that. They’d keep him alive, wanting to know what made him tick, and Hannibal would…  
  
“Would you tell?” Will asks.  
  
Hannibal pauses. “What do you think?”  
  
“I think it depends on the moment.” Possessing the secret might be enough for Hannibal. The simple knowledge that he could destroy Will’s perfectly constructed environment with one move, dangling it over his head like a scimitar.  
  
But telling would be the ultimate crescendo. _“He had the chance to learn my secret, but he couldn’t see it so I let him run and run until I was bored with him and then I caught him and raped him and…”_  
  
“What’re you going to take first?” Will says it aloud to quell the terror rising in the pit of his belly. If he can face it, maybe he won’t break and beg. “My balls or my liver?”  
  
“Suppose I take your heart.” Hannibal lays his hand over Will’s chest, gazing down at him. His eyes bore into Will’s, relentlessly observing. “Earlier I told you I left you here to hopefully make you more accepting. That was true. But it’s also because I enjoyed seeing you like this. Can you imagine that, Will?”  
  
“I’m pretty sure that I can.” Will wavers there and then he says, “But I don’t want to.” He can imagine the attraction of having someone at your mercy, tenderized and stripped down for your visceral enjoyment. If Hannibal touches him right now, his last defenses will no doubt shatter.  “That’s the real appeal, isn’t it? Making someone come apart at the seams?”  
  
“Yes.” Hannibal’s hand slides down to rest on his stomach. “But not just anyone.”  
  
“Lucky me.” Will murmurs. His eyes close as Hannibal continues down to his crotch. There is no room in his head for anything but this. His groin aches, nerves tensing and slacking. Hannibal's fingers stroke down the dips of his hips, massaging his aching muscles. It feels amazing. Will can feel his body slowly relaxing, tension shifting through his muscles as Hannibal kneads his skin.  
  
Hannibal’s hands are made for this, talented and strong, pushing the tension out, letting the relaxation soak into him, down to his bones. Will flattens himself back against the table.  
  
For a moment, pure bliss descends over his exhausted frame.  
  
And then Hannibal removes his hands.  
  
He leans down to inhale Will’s scent. "So tell me." His fingers stroke down Will’s chest, pulling the t-shirt up to his neck, revealing his nipples.  
  
Will gazes up at him. "Or what?" He keeps expecting Hannibal to tire of his tongue, but so far he hasn’t.  
  
"You tell me." Hannibal leans down, licking a fine line along Will's throat. The touch of his tongue makes Will's gut tighten in anticipation.  
  
"I think you'll do whatever you're about to regardless of whether I tell you or not."  
  
"I do believe you're right," Hannibal agrees. "But having you admit it beforehand would make it sweeter, don't you think?" His hand slinks down between Will's legs, caressing him. Will's strangled little gasp only makes Hannibal smile.  
  
He already knows. It won’t do any harm to admit it. There’s only his dignity left to surrender, but Will still clings to it. A drop of pre-come wells up agonizingly at the slit of his cock. Hannibal catches it with his thumb and brings it up to his lips. He tastes Will, still gazing down at him.  
  
Hannibal’s eyes are a hunting ground. Will sees himself in them, running endlessly with nowhere to hide.  
  
In that instant, Will surrenders.  “I was thinking…of how it would feel if it was you, instead of the machine.”  
  
“Did you like that?” Hannibal’s nails dance over his swollen flesh.  
  
Will doesn’t have to let everything go. “We both know the answer to that.”  
  
Hannibal’s lips curve upward. He strokes his cock for a brief second, and then pulls away. “Thank you.”  
  
“Oh no, thank you,” Will mutters. “Thanks to you, I now know the full range of my bodily responses to particular sexual acts. Not that I’d been wondering, but,” He trails off as he sees Hannibal’s expression.  
  
“You think I did this,” he gestures at the machine, “because I didn’t want to touch you myself?”  
  
No. Will shakes his head. He’s not getting into this; they’re not discussing this. This is rape. He doesn’t want this, it’s a game, it’s a fucking game, and Will still can’t help whispering, “Why would you?”  
  
“Even now, you don’t see it completely.” Hannibal murmurs. “I suppose I’ll have you to show you.”  
  
Will opens his mouth, and Hannibal’s fingers are there slipping between his lips, catching his tongue. “Do you want to bite me, Will?”  
  
Will gulps, saliva pooling in the pockets of his cheeks. He tries to shake his head, and it makes his skull ache as Hannibal holds firm.  
  
“I was always going to do this.” Hannibal’s fingers slide along his teeth. “The machine was only a tool, used in preparation.” He pulls his fingers out, and watches the line of saliva stretch and break across Will’s mouth as he licks at his fingertips.  
  
“But I see I’ll have to show you, otherwise you won’t believe me.”  
  
“You don’t have to do anything.”  
  
“You’re right.” Hannibal says simply. “I’m doing this because I want to.”  
  
He starts the machine again, and Will stares at him in surprise. After all that, he’d expected… The shaft penetrates him and Will’s lips part soundlessly. He has no energy left to scream any more. Now he knows Hannibal is still just playing with him.  
  
Hannibal starts unbuttoning his trousers.

*  *  *

He draws himself out with the utmost care. For once Will’s eyes aren’t looking anywhere but at him. Even with everything that’s happened in the last 24 hours, seeing any portion of Hannibal uncovered is still a unique event. His cock is as fascinating as the rest of him. Will hesitates to call any set of genitalia elegant, but Hannibal’s simply is.

Hannibal straddles him, kneeling on either side of Will’s hips.

The machine is still in motion. Will struggles in his restraints; Hannibal’s too close.

Hannibal’s hand in his pocket and the shaft stops.

“I knew it.” Will whispers. “You were watching the whole day.”

Hannibal leans down, inhaling Will’s scent. “Did you think I wouldn’t watch you?”

“No, I knew it.” Will twists away; Hannibal’s breath is faint on his cheek.

“Relax your body, Will.”

 “No.” Will’s body can’t bear the strain. He knows this. He’s not ready for _this_. He knows the human body can handle this, but he’s not ready.

The tip of Hannibal’s cock pushes inside. Will squirms helplessly. There’s no way he can take both the machine and Hannibal, but Hannibal thinks differently as he starts the machine again.

Will groans, his eyes rolling back in his head.

 “Can you feel the difference, Will?” Hannibal tells him, moving further in.

“Of course I can.” He’s not a machine. Hannibal’s cock is warm, filling him in a way that the machine failed. The shaft is adequate, but as Hannibal said, it’s only a tool. Hannibal’s a weapon, piercing Will as easily as if he had stabbed him with a knife.

Will shivers, staring anywhere but at Hannibal. He can’t let this possess him like this, but it’s difficult not to. His body is pulling away from him, leaning into Hannibal's invasion. Hannibal slips deeper, sinking into him, boneless and sweetly cruel. His hands dig into Will’s ass, impaling him more fully upon his cock causing Will to cry out.

Hannibal's right hand presses down against the tender flesh of his throat. Will’s fingers scrabble at the table, he can't breathe, he can't breathe. Too full.

“Can’t,”

"Calm, calm," Hannibal whispers. "It's all right."

Will struggles under him, and Hannibal digs his fingers tighter. "Let it go, Will."

There's a burst of gray and black spiking behind his eyes and Will arches up with a hollow gasp. Hannibal's teeth sink into his flesh. Will clenches around him, bearing down on the pain as his stomach tightens.

The shaft of the machine eases out of his body, until only Hannibal’s inside him.

Hannibal’s still moving over him, teeth sharp on his skin, and Will’s eyelids flutter. Lips on his, he tastes salt. Will blinks, not realizing he'd closed his eyes.

 Hannibal gazes down at him, cupping his cheek. It’s perplexing, but Will could swear there was true affection in his eyes.

“Now what?” Will asks. Hannibal’s taken him, in every form, except that which he must desire the most. What is he waiting for now?

"I can't let you go, obviously. But I confess, I don't want to kill you." His thumb strokes along Will's temple. "Not yet."

"What then?"

Hannibal's lips brush his jaw. "What would you do in my place?"

Will knows what Hannibal means, but there’s a brief, vivid image of _himself, cock buried in Hannibal, Hannibal curving under him, bodies entwined._ "Turn myself in." It’s a lie, best he can do.

“No, you wouldn't."

"You're right." Will blinks. He keeps his gaze steady on Hannibal's. "I'd kill me."

They both know it's true. Hannibal nods. His hand flattens along Will's chest. "Yes, it would be the wise thing to do." He sounds reflective, giving the matter due consideration. Will waits, each breath lasting a century in his lungs.

Hannibal leans down to set his teeth against Will’s left nipple. He grazes it with the tips and Will's breath catches expectantly. "You taste,"

"Let me guess. Chicken."

Hannibal's laughter is rich, amused, sending a twist of heat to Will's cock. "You are much finer than mere fowl, Will." His smile is so genuine. Will can't read what's behind it; or rather, he can't sense anything malicious. And then he realizes.

"You're not going to do it, are you?"

His smile deepens. Hannibal leans down, his tongue sliding inside Will's mouth. Will shivers, but the way Hannibal kisses makes him go hot with fear and lust. There’s a fine line between the pleasure and pain of this, and he knows with a sharp certainty that they walk hand in hand, even as Hannibal doesn’t wish him any lasting harm. It’s a strange realization.

Hannibal’s lips linger upon his, and then he draws back, simply sitting atop Will and studying him.

Then he slides out of Will who trembles at the sudden sense of loss. He’s truly empty for the first time in hours and he aches with it.

Hannibal stands. “I will miss you though.”

Will turns his head limply, gazing at Hannibal. “What?”

Hannibal picks up a syringe from the side table and comes over to him. “I hope you remember that.”

There’s a pinprick of a needle in Will’s neck and a film starts clouding his brain. The air is light around him, and Hannibal blurs before his eyes.

“I hate to leave you.” Hannibal presses a kiss to Will’s temple. “But you can’t come this time.”

Will blinks. “You’re going…” He wants to ask where, but the haze clouding his head prevents him. Something, reminds him Hannibal won’t tell him. He’s going away.

The last touch of Hannibal’s lips remains as Will slips away.

*  *  *

Will wakes up on the floor of Hannibal’s office hours later. Sore, exhausted, but clothed, for which he is thankful. When he tries to move, a sob escapes him. Will stays there on his knees until he can get to his feet without crying. It takes far too long.

He doesn’t have to tell Jack Crawford the truth about the Chesapeake Ripper. Hannibal leaves behind a tableaux of ornate confession, a statement, whatever it is. Three bodies carefully arranged in a park three blocks away from Jack’s home. Their organs gone, except for their hearts which were left in a triangle between the bodies.

Both Hannibal’s office and home are stripped of the personal touches. There’s no trace of where he’s gone.

 Jack’s in shock. “How come you didn’t see this coming?”

Will considers the fact that he manages not to dissolve into hysterics a personal triumph. “I told you it was getting harder.” 

*  *  *

He takes a taxi home, curled gingerly on his side for the long drive. He’s half asleep by the time they arrive. He’s only been gone a little over 24 hours. The dogs are probably fine. Will pays the driver and goes inside.

The dogs are more than fine. Someone’s been there and fed them. There’s a note on the table. Will picks it up and reads it before setting it down again.

He showers, letting the heat seep into his muscles, scalding him. Slowly, Hannibal’s semen trickles out of him. Evidence washing away down the drain. Let it go.

Will washes the t-shirt three times and still the smell of sweat won’t leave. At last, he balls it up and buries it in a shoebox in his closet. He should throw it away, but for some reason he doesn’t.

When he closes his eyes at night, Will can still see Hannibal’s note, each exquisite swirl twisting in the shadows of his eyes.

_Till the next time._

_H._


End file.
